Yet Nothing's Real

Simply said: she no longer craved anything more than first kisses and watermelon seeds. She was more misunderstood than psychotic. She was something like an old book or a cold cup of coffee: worn and bitter. And when it came down to it, this was a side effect of loving you and being restrained in this life. She could never escape the smell of pleather and tar and hurt so she did the most insanely beautiful thing she could becoming almost senseless, erratically so, she took the blade to her heart. And like everything she could have been and seen and heard she disappeared like sun in the rain leaving me and you and those watermelon plants rotting in the front yard.